


Touch

by offensiveagentpie



Category: Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Howard can't help being awkward...really, M/M, mostly Howard being introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-17
Updated: 2012-12-17
Packaged: 2017-11-21 09:18:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/offensiveagentpie/pseuds/offensiveagentpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a thought he’s played over and over in his head.  Being able to hold someone whenever he wants and have that person want to be held, even have them want to hold him back, would be downright wonderful. </p><p>Part of the 100 prompt challenge:  38. Touch</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

Howard has been like this for as long as he can remember. He never really was the touchy-feely type. Growing up his parents hadn’t been too physical in showing their affection for him, or for each other. He didn’t have any siblings and he’d never been in a relationship…hell he hadn’t even been in a friendship besides the…well whatever it was he had with Vince, but we’ll deal with that later.

The point is, Howard is rather uncomfortable when it comes to physical contact. Sure, he can handle a hand shake, or a pat on the shoulder, or an accidental brush of bodies in a tight space, those are all manageable occurrences. It’s the touches that really mean something that send sharp, tight, shivers of anxiety through his body.

It’s not as though he doesn’t like the thought of such touches. He even thinks he’d like them if he’d be the one to be in control of them. To be the one to start and stop when it happens. But even if he (self proclamations of being a man of action aside) were brave enough to instigate touching Vin-…someone, it wouldn’t guarantee keeping the anxiety away.

It’s a thought he’s played over and over in his head. Being able to hold someone whenever he wants and have that person want to be held, even have them want to hold him back, would be downright wonderful. But as the fantasy plays on he starts imagining the other person’s point of view. Who would want to hold him anyway? He’d probably have stubble that would prickle at them, he’s not exactly fit so there’d be some flab involved, he’s got knobby elbows and knees, and he’s freakishly tall and just…well, just generally awkward in his own skin. There’s not a single feature he can think of that would make him appealing for a cuddle.

All that aside, there are times when these thoughts are all consuming and they hit at the most random moments. He could be standing, making toast, when the urge to have someone come up behind him and press close, holding him around the middle, hits so hard that his knees almost buckle. Sitting watching telly, the desire to have someone tuck in against his shoulder and rest against him can be so overwhelming that he fidgets with want.

But no, there’s just no nice way to go about it. Asking for it is out of the question. How dumb would that sound? ‘Hey, Vince, care for a cuddle?’ And yes…there’s no point in hiding the fact that the only person he would ever want to do any of this with is Vince.

Vince who had been his best friend for as long as he could remember, Vince who had stuck with him for all those years, Vince who laughed at him when he told him he loved him in the tundra, Vince who bloody well kissed him on the roof and made all of this worse than it had ever been…Vince who is probably the king of casual and perfect bodily contact.

Howard wakes up one morning to find himself clinging to a pillow as though his life depended on it. He’s curled around it and the feeling of wanting this stupid sack of feathers to hold him back makes him want to pound his head against a brick wall. Goddammit. How pathetic and lonely can you get?

He’s still deep in the depths of self-loathing as he walks out to the kitchen, unable to shake that damn feeling. His skin feels too tight and he’s twitchy, but it’s nothing a cup of tea won’t fix. 

Vince is already, surprisingly, awake. He’s standing in his silk robe…kimono…thing whatever he wants to call it, drizzling honey over his toast and humming ‘The Jean Genie’ slightly out of tune… Howard can hardly stand it. Pausing in the doorway, he takes a deep breath, fighting down the urge to just scream and run away. But, he doesn’t. He marches over to the infuriating little electro ponce, wraps his arms around him, pulls him flush against his chest, and rests his cheek in that too fluffy hair.

Vince goes completely still and silent for the first time in his entire life. They stand there, neither one saying a word, for a few moments. Howard starts to feel increasingly stupid…he’s not even able to enjoy how warm Vince is, how nice the silk of his kimono feels, or how his hair smells vaguely of peaches. No, what he feels is the beginning prickles of anxiety crawling up the back of his neck and the stirrings of nausea.

A few more heartbeats pass between them and Vince lets out a sigh, letting his head drop back onto Howard’s shoulder and his hands come to rest on those around his stomach. “Mornin’ Howard…took you long enough, you great knob.” He tilts his head and places a small, lingering kiss on Howard’s jawline.

Howard nearly dies. Far too many thoughts try to fight their way to the top of his mind tank. All of his muscles seem to relax at once and his lungs burn as he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He burrows his face against Vince’s hair and once again has to fight the urge to scream. This…this is fantastic and overwhelming and oh god if Vince keeps moving his thumb in a circle over his wrist like that he might just explode. 

“Uh…” is the first thing he can think of to say. The sound is muffled in Vince’s hair and he can feel the warmth of his own breath bounce back at him

Vince, however, just chuckles and spins around in Howard’s arms, looping his own around the taller man’s neck. Of course Vince is going to know just what to do and be so utterly okay with this and apparently not feel like the floor was about to go out from under him. “You’re really easy to read, Howard.”

The fact that Vince’s eyes are now on him make Howard a lot more fidgety and he can feel the heat rising in his face. “Yeah? If you’re such a great people reader then why on earth didn’t you do something?” A bit of pride rises in his chest. At least he’s able to defend himself now…even with Vince’s fingers making maddening little wiggles against the nape of his neck.

Vince raises an eyebrow and Howard thinks of a school headmaster who doesn’t quite believe the lie he’s just been told…but the overall effect is ruined by the ‘cat that got the canary’ grin that accompanies it. “What? And have you go all ‘don’t touch me’ on me? I knew you’d come ‘round eventually.”

“Oh…well, I suppose then…yeah.” Howard is fairly certain his blood has been replaced with the stuff they use to make the globs in lava lamps. He’s warm and feels very much as though he’ll never move properly again…and apparently Vince did get a chance to eat some of his breakfast because before he can really process it, he’s discovering that Vince’s mouth tastes like honey.

Vince pulls away first, that damn grin still on his face and he chuckles again. Understanding seems to hit all at once and Howard just stares at him, his face nothing but Northern Shock. Things click into place, everything is clear and things are making almost too much sense. Without warning, he scoops Vince up in his arms, almost taken aback and just how damn easy it is to do so, and trumps out of the room.

Vince is nothing but a squirming, giggling mass of silk. “Now what are you doing?”

“Bedroom,” he replies. “There’s going to be a lot more touching in a moment, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Two Mighty Boosh fics now that involve Vince making toast…I swear this wasn’t on purpose.


End file.
